


Post Dated Cheque

by sweetalison007



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Era, First Time, M/M, Modern AU, Reincarnation, angst fest, blink and you miss appearance of another popular fandom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 16:47:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1192491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetalison007/pseuds/sweetalison007
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A beautiful painting  soon changes from a prized possession to the source of nightmares for art connoisseur Kieran Duboise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well this was supposed to be my Paperlegends submission. But for various reasons I could not submit my work. This is not just my first Merlin/Arthur fic but my first full fledged story.

Chapter I 

 

23 rd September 2012 , 12 am , Bristol. 

 

'' Kieran James Dubois! Wake up immediately else I will make you forget that you are three and twenty..... if you do not want to be doused by cold water and wake up all drenched and spluttering like a five year old, wake up!! '' The words reverberated throughout the hall as the voice was deep and rich in its cadence, impressive in its resonance and its owner a beautiful young woman in her mid twenties with an enviable ivory complexion and an hourglass figure dressed in a long narrow velvet skirt , wine coloured open collared silk shirt and her delicate shoulders wrapped in a black military jacket, looked the part of a Burne-Jones heroine. She oozed confidence, competence and panache .   
She marched up the long winding mahogany stairs like a hurricane . She let out a huff of exasperation as she saw the door of a bedroom closed. Gritting her teeth in annoyance she tapped impatiently on the door. There was no response. '' Kieran for Christ's sake open the door........ her voice now changed imperceptibly from authoritative to pleading , '' this charade has gone for too long....... no one blames you for what happened...... you are expected at the Montague's today . I have excused your absence saying that you are busy in the morning but you will be infallibly there by afternoon. Louise wants to see you.... she's really worried... open the God damn door!! ''

The owner apparently was too stubborn ( stubborn as a mule was what the rest of the inhabitants of this house sometimes fondly described him as ) to concede to this request. The young woman sighed in resignation and opened her purse, taking out duplicate keys. '' You really leave me no choice ....she muttered ominously as she coaxed the door open with a protesting groan..... as she marched in the atmosphere felt claustrophobic and suffocating as all the windows were fastened shut. The entire room was submerged in absolute darkness. Shaking her head to get rid of the sudden pang of fear which assailed her she opened all the windows , letting in the bright sunlight into the room disspelling the darkness and highlighting the muted splendour of the room, which was lavish yet sublime in its beauty. The sunlight suffused the room with a soft golden glow throwing in sharp relief the almost extravagantly ornate pair of ottomans, ( which were reserved exclusively for friends , visitors alike as oddly prudish inmate of this room never let anybody sit on his bed) Luxuriously beautiful tapestries were decorating the wall bearing monograms of King Sigismund II of Poland and the Apocalypse. Various delicate objects made of Venetian glass rested precariously on a cabinet with lacquered panels of pure mahogany. She disregarded the displays of beauty surrounding her and advanced towards the canopied four poster bed in the middle of the room..... the old vague sense of foreboding overwhelmed her again. With hesitant fingers she pried open the curtains. A long lean male body lay sprawled on the bed covered by a duvet. His blonde hair luminous under the flattering effect of the sunlight, shone like a halo or an untarnished crown of gold, dazzling and resplendant. Beneath the shiny mass of golden hair a nape of a neck white and creamy in its complexion was barely visible. As she crept up to him she became painfully aware of an overwhelmingly pungent odour, honey sweet in one sense but an undeniably bitter offensiveness beneath the sweet element..... it smelt horribly familiar like ......feeling nauseous and nearly petrified she removed the duvet and discovered to her horror that the duvet and the sheets were drenched in blood. With horrified fascination she noted that there was blood in every shade of red, crimson, vermillion, ruby. It appeared as if Edvard Munch had indulged in a rather grotesque and brutal recreation of his masterpiece '' The Scream'' . The blood did indeed create a morbid and myriad pattern on the silk sheets . There also was blood in every form some congealing , some fresh and dripping. Kieran lay spread eagled, his face waxen and emaciated , his breath faint and uneven. 

Kieran Dubois apparently had intended to leave nobody any choice after all. 

He sleeps fitfully , small beads of perspiration adorning his forehead glistening like pearls while he tosses and turns in his sleep. He dreams yet again of a familiar , great town square beyond the castle ramparts and battlements the square would have normally been noisy and clamorous but now seemed unnaturally sombre . There is an enormous gathering, eerily silent and melancholic, surrounding a huge funeral pyre, made of oak , ash and beech piled in faggots to the height of 4 tall men. At its summit, rests a long slender body of a man pale and gaunt. His face is obscure but through hazy eyes Kieran can discern a mop of ebony black hair. There is a procession of men wearing long pristine white robes and long gold torcs adorning their necks. They sprinkled the wood with the sacred libations of milk, honey and bull's blood and roamed 3 times round the funeral chanting in a strange indecipherable language. Soon after the burning torches were flung upon the pyre. Kieran felt his eyes beginning to sting, whether from the smoke emanating from the blazing embers , or whether the recesses of his heart were being set aflame as well..... he couldnt comprehend. He also fails to fathom the pang of grief wild and agonising and the acute sense of loss that felt somehow irreedeemable. The old sense of detachment , fragility of his existence which had haunted him for so many years returns with vengeance yet again. Along with these tormenting visions each more tangible, more inexplicable than the other is always accompanied by a maelstrom of pain and loneliness but also an ominous feeling of indebtedness and insolvency.

He hates this feeling of liability. He had never failed to pay his arrears before . At the age of 9 he had made sure to repay Sophia in a week, the 10 pounds he borrowed from her to buy his cousin Morag a set of scented candles for her birthday. At 20 he had succeeded in repaying the 4 million pounds he borrowed from his long time friend Johnson who had made a fortune in real estate dealings to float his own web designing company '' The Magical Touch''. He had always strived, toiled, worked ceaselessly to clear his debts. So this omnipresent feeling of indebtedness, feels like an irritative itch making him feel helpless..... another emotion Kieran Dubois is not particularly well equipped to deal with. 

He is woken from his fitful sleep by a pair of soft cool hands stroking his forehead gently.... but they withdrew as he blinked his eyes open and gazed owlishly at Morag who had gone chalkily pale. She heaved a sigh of relief and pursed her lips sternly. '' Rise & Shine your highness..... you are finally back in the land of mortals .'' Her words send a sharp shiver down his spine striking in their familiarity...... he distinctly rememberes that well beloved voice from his dreams , merry and cheerful telling him to wake up to rise and shine. Hearing the same words repeated in Morag's even, impersonal tone is nothing short of a rude jolt. Her voice is deliberately calm and lighthearted and her tone conversational. But Kieran knows better. Its only the lull before the storm. So he tries to be as jovial and mischeivous as possible. '' Cant you think of something else to say? '' he begins in a deliberately teasing tone. Morag does not suggest alternative ways to wake him up but glares at him severely. '' It was quite the journey from Hades you know, '' he continues rakishly '' Pluto was reluctant to let go of such a beautiful , lively lad like me. Besides the river Lethe was rather ignonimously long -'' Morag effectively stalls his speech - '' Is this again one of those dreams? I distinctly remember telling you to consult a pschycholologist - '' His attempt at a good mood jeopardised he too grew angry '' I dont need one! Are you suggesting that I go into a loony bin-'' Morag threw up her hands in despair. '' Stop thinking in stereotypes will you ? Care to divulge then why this attempt to emulate Seneca? ( Seneca a famous Roman Stoic philosopher when accused of involvement in the Pisonian Conspiracy to kill Emperor Nero killed himself by slitting his wrists. ) Or is this a phase of masochism ?'' '' Its nothing really - I wasnt -'' '' You werent trying to what? Annihilate yourself? Or do you want to be euthanized?Shall I tell Stacie to arrange for a ticket to Oregon then sire ? '' She laughs humourless and bitter . She raises her hand imperiously, stalling his pathetic efforts of a witty comeback and delivers her verdict in her trademark crisp and commanding manner. '' Its been 3 days...... she continues seemingly oblivious to his disbelief. You are to be discharged this evening.'' ''Dont even think about moving . I am going to have a chat with Dr. Kennedy concerning your fate.'' ( and with Grandpere and Gaia later concerning your future, she adds silently ) . She pats his sweaty curls , stifling his protests about being treated like a 5 year old, and walks off. Kieran stares dumbly after her, shaking his head . They both of them have extremely volatile and combustible temperaments ( an infamous Duboise trait his Grandpere opines ) but unfortunately Morag is slightly more capable of maintaining an almost impeccable composure in dire situations. Kieran lies back on the bed as the door closes, he could vividly envisage how each of his family members would react. Grandpere would subject him to gentle admonishment , the look of mingled disbelief, abject disappointment and disgust evident on his normally serene face. '' Dear old Grandpere he thinks with a sudden birst of affection, ''he is so unlike the regular myopic, nosy old fossils! '' Gregarious, jubilant and vivacious even at 80, '' Grandpere'' Jean Auguste Duboise could still play a mean game of poker , enjoyed riding horses and his weekly quota of polo and abhorred any form of self harm. Gaia his grandfather's third wife who had been a moderably successful theatre personality in her youth and now was an accomplished art dealer and organised art exhibitions. She had an enviable collection of paintings and beautiful historical artefacts under her possession. She was almost magpie like buying whatever painting or artefact captured her fancy. She had donated quite a few items to their local museum. She doted upon both Morag and Kieran , would probably be rendered catatonic and he would be subjected to long sessions of motherly fussing and embarrasing probing and questioning. He wondered idly what reaction would be incited in the owner of a lavish mansion about 183klometers away, if this news ever reaches him ? Shock? Grief? Guilt? Indifference? He was drawn out from his maudlin thoughts by a crisp cheerful and impersonal male voice '' Welcome back Mr. Duboise. How do you feel? ( A completely unnecesary question!) He wants notthing more than to lie down and doze off, but he also has to answer cautiously he cannot really tolerate another day of confinement in the hospital ward he wants to be discharged right now. Keeping his voice calm and measured he replies equably '' just a bit woozy Doctor. '' '' Good. It is nothing short of a miracle you are alive really'' the doctor a tall balding gentleman with sparse auburn hair regarded him in a disapproving manner. Turning to Morag he elaborates his medical jargon '' it is astounding really his ulnar and median nerves were almost in state of mutilation yet they are in rapid state of recovery..... his loss of blood is not as copiousas it should have been.... much of it was beginning to clot preventing hypovolemia followed by cardiac arrest.'' '' How did this happen?'' You brought him in as soon as you found him isnt it Miss Farquhar? '' '' May be am just a fella hailing from Kryptonite'' his second pathetic attempt at humour is silenced as Morag shoots him her infamous frosty nosed look. '' You can be discharged this evening but remember to take no stress for a couple weeks''. As they leave the room to discuss the formalities of his discharge . Kieran mutters to himself bitter and only half joking - '' Miracle indeed. '' In the ride back home Kieran wonders morosely if he is destined to feel like a fragmented entity like an intruder or interloper forever. The secret which he carries in his body which runs through his veins , what seemed like a rare gift divine and priceless seems like a venom mostly now a liability that weighs as heavy as Atlas's burden upon him. A gift is nothing but a weary load he is cursed by if he is unable to exercise it there is the insatiable urge to utilise it but now he cowers against the inevitability of another miasma of excruciating pain all consuming , overwhelming. Sometimes Kieran wishes he could return to his childhood years, blissfully unaware of his ''gift'' his uneventful and rather unremarkable years at Richmond .

He reminisces the ceaseless arguements about trivial matters with his junior footie team mates, his earnest albeit ridiculous enmity with his school nemesis Warren McLeod their mutual exchange of dreadful insults and barbs across the school yard....... his nightly strolls in the estate grounds with his father who would patiently point out names of various flowers cornflowers lilies, laurels , tulips. Remembers breathing in the enticing and elusive aroma of the junipers during each of these nocturnal strolls. If he had remained absorbed in the simple boyish delights and wiles blissfully unaware of the venom lying dormant but no less potent within him had defied its siren call then life probably would have been more mundane but nonetheless happier. Wistfully he wonders if he would be able to get a Tardis and command it to take him back to the almost utopian world of 1999. Wishful thinking that.


	2. Chapter 2

21st January 1999 

Ten year old Kieran Cavanagh shuffled his feet impatiently. He found the weekly visits to the Church monotonous not to mention regimental. His black high collared Sunday suit, felt hot and prickly. He desperately wants to take his gloves off. Sneakily he attempts to do so but his father , super conscious of his fidgeting son beside him , shoots him a look of such an acute disappointment, of baffled expectations that makes his breath hitch and his heart contract. he at once ceases to fidget and becomes composed.

 

As his father shoots him the familiar drowsy contented smile at him, he relaxes and unfurls his fingers. Unbeknownst to him they had curled themselves into fists.

Kieran felt extremely drowsy as he struggled to keep his eyes open as the new Bishop Father Irving's booming voice droned on and on about '' divine grace'' . He felt exhausted not to mention famished. He gritted his teeth as his stomach grumbled. Father always made sure that Sunday infallibly began ( literally began ) with a visit to the Church. The Church of St.Agnes a quaint , picturesque little suburban town of Cornwall had few visitors during the week . Which meant that the attendance at the Sunday Convocation was pretty sparse. Most of the population of St. Agnes were Methodists. Roman Catholic s were a protected minority.

 

'' Remember it is our sacred duty , our privilege to uphold the legacy of the sacrifice of Our Lord God -''

 

Kieran was in his 100th attempt to keep his eyes open and vowing to himself that he would carry a bottle of pepper spray in his next visit to the Church when he heard something which made him jolt from his drowsiness as if he had been doused by an electric current. 

'' ................. and Malachi said unto his followers '' So will I come near to you for judgement. I will be quick to testify against sorcerers , adulterers and perjurers. They shall be prepared for the cleansing flames of Purgatory........ said the Lord Almighty - ''

 

Kieran felt nauseous - all hunger evaporated from him . All of a sudden the hall which had seemed so massive , so gigantic before, now seemed to contract and diminish in size until it became minuscule and suffocating. 

'' Kieran are you all right son ? You looking green - '' his fathers voice seemed to float from a great distance barely audible ...... to his ears which were filled with the loud pounding sounds of his frantic heart , it felt like listening to an uneven music emmitted by a broken record. 

 

'' I am fine Father- he lies through his teeth , gripping his seat convulsively like a lifeline. He feels the bile bittersweet and hot like molten lava rise through his throat. He bites his lip furiously drawing blood and stares vapidly towards the pulpit where Father Irving was delivering his sermon. Closing his eyes he begged the tidal wave of energy within him to do something to help him out of this mess. Soon enough sounds of the sermon the chorus of the audience the deep resonant gong of the old grandfather clock were obliterated from his auditory spectrum. 

For what seems like hours later the sermon finally ends. The gathering slowly begins to disperse. Kieran who now feels the familiar wave of pain hit him ( though this time it is nowhere near as intense as sharp as before) staggers from his seat , his legs wobbling . Desperate he clutches his father's coat sleeve as an anchor. '' You dont look well son, come on we will go home and you can lie down as much as you want to okay ?'' Kieran nods gratefully, relieved not daring to meet his father's eyes. They are about to depart when they hear the familiar , sonorous voice of Father Irving greeting them. 

'' Good morning John my son. I hope you are hale and hearty and prospering. ''

'' Good Morning to you too Padre. With our Lord God's blessing we are prospering in health and wealth.'' 

'' And how fares your educational institution ? ''

John Cavanagh was the headmaster of The Holy Child , an educational institution for boys, situated at Torquay. Years of relentless devotion had now made it an extremely reputed and one of the most sought after schools ( and one of the most expensive too) of The British Isles. The Holy Child was the first and last preferance of parents who wanted their children given a wholesome education ( and who had inexhaustible bank accounts as well ) for it not only helped the studants accomplish academic excellence , and provided fodder for intellectual nourishment, but also strived to inculcate a sturdy moral foundation in each and every student. John Cavanagh had observed the evolution of the school from a humble red bricked two storeyed affair to a virtual colossus in structure and reputation over the last twenty years. The enormous sprawling building had a large park ( filled with rabbits and robins chirping from the trees) a swimming pool ( He had never compromised with the infrastructure and T he Holy Child provided all the amenities its contemporary fashionable schools could boast of )

'' Its thriving Father.''

The Bishop's gaze was now rivetted upon Kieran who was standind motionless, his head downcast and gazed at him in wonder. 

'' Is this your boy ? Why he's all grown up!!''

Smiling proudly his John replies, '' yes this is my boy Kieran.''

Father Irving proceeds to ask mundane details about his performance at school. Kieran kept his answers as monosyllablic as possible. As the Q & A ends he politely requests to be excused as he was feeling rather unwell ( still keeping his eyes to the ground ) bids the Bishop good day and departs in haste. As soon as he is out of earshot, the Bishop exclaims : '' John I must say......... he is a spitting image of his mother!'' 

'' His does look astoundingly like Noelle, God rest her soul.'' John replies primly crossing himself. '' Got her eyes, mouth and complexion too,'' he adds his smile serene and sad.

'' He is also very polite.......... not at all like the rowdy boys of nowadays, having no sense of decorum or propriety.'' '' You must be very proud of him.'' 

'' I cannot have asked for a better son Padre.'' The pride in John's voice is evident. He is a pearl among boys my Kieran .''

'' Bring him as often as you can then.'' '' If he wishes to attend the Church proceedings that is....he might find it ....... what do they call that nowadays? ......... Boring.'' finishes the Bishop with a chuckle. 

'' I will bring him as often as possible . I have brought my boy up well Padre . Kieran is not flighty or irresponsible like his peers.'' 

'' Very well then ........ farewell to you my son. May the Allmighty shower his blessings on you and your child.'' 

John came out from the Church and found Kieran sitting on the stone steps face downcast , fingers pressed to his temple., his face scrunched up with pain. 

'' Come on son, up you get. Lets get you home.'' '' I can carry you if you feel too dizzy - '' 

'' No father I am quite alright. I can handle being a bit sick.'' The boy snapped petulantly. 

'' No need to get so peevish son, all I do is for you.'' pat came the reply. Feeling chastised, Kieran opened his mouth to apologise his father got up abruptly and walked to the car extracting the car keyes from his pocket. Kieran followed him silently. Father and son did not exchange a word during the entire journey home. Kieran lay back on his seat closing his eyes and the latter kept staring stoically ahead. 

Once they reached home , his father instructed Mrs. Manning , the housekeeper to give Kieran a wash and put him to bed but not before feeding him something nourishing. As he heard Mrs. Manning heating up the water and preparing the bath he checks his reflection thoroughly in the mirror outside the bathroom. He was a sight to behold indeed with bloodshot eyes dark shadows underneath them and his colour had gone all blotchy. 

As he becomes half submerged in the warm water , Kieran felt the accumulated tension and pain start to dissipate. 

'' Mr. Cavanagh will come 'round Master Kieran , he wont be able to stay mad at you for long.'' Mrs Manning was always quite the optimist. 

'' Hmph '' was the eloquent response. 

'' Come on my lad , lets get you to bed.'' She tucked him into the bed . Kieran scowled and wrinkled his nose in distaste as Mrs. Manning returned with a steaming bowl of light onion soup ( less of a soup and more of a thinned down watery gruel really ...... was he an invalid that he had to endure inedible gruel ?!!!) his bad mood aggravated as he caught a whiff of the appetising aromas of roast marshmallows from the kitchen. A loong heated debate followed inevitably wherein the determined matron attempted to convince her petulant charge of the necessity of partaking of the unsavoury gruel in his weakened state. Eventualy she managed to sooth the peevish child by bribing him a plate of steaming marshmallows the following day. 

Kieran made a face, but complied with an annoyed huff. He wolfed through the concoction as quickly as possible and retired to the warm refuge of his sheets, the gruel had not been particularly tasty , but it warmed him up and soon enough he was all drowsy wrapped up in his warm cucoon. 

He was woken up by the feel of gentle calloused fingers stroking his forehead gently. 

'' What time'sit ? '' he mumbled groggily. 

'' Half past 3 in the afternoon.'' came the cool sombre baritone of his father.

With a jolt, Kieran sat up on the bed and gathered his balankets to cover up his dishevelled statae. His father gave him a glance of approval at the action. 

'' Do you want anything father?'' he asked calmly a slight hint of irritation still evident in his tone. 

'' Cant a father come to see how his son is faring?'' came the amused reply. 

'' Of course father.'' Kieran replied warily.

His father grew serious abandoning all semblance of mirth ,'' I did come here to speak to you to speak about something..... about the misunderstanding which occurred this morning - '' 

Ashamed and chastised, Kieran was quick to respond '' I apologise for my rude behaviour sir.....it was uncalled for.'' 

'' Pshaw....... it happens to the best of us and you were wearied out. '' '' Forgive me my child - mortified Kieran began to splutter but his father stalled him with a regal wave of his hand. '' You are growing up.... sometimes I do tend to overlook that. I will try my best not to mollycoddle you anymore.'' John smiled tremulously. '' But the fact is that I cant help being protective of you as you are all I have left.'' ''I know I might not say it all the time nor act like it even...... but you are very ...... precious to me. ''

Kieran feels his eyes threaten to sting and he trys to swallow the now persistent lump in his throught.

His father went on his voice deliberately gruff - '' It is you who will carry the name of Cavanagh furthur manage the estate..... uphold our legacy in the future. As my son , my heir you are priceless to me my son. Everything I do is for your benefit.'' There is a subtle tremor in the deep resonant baritone now. 

Kieran sat there speechless and overwhelmed. 

'' So that's it ....... boring lecture over.'' His father had evidently misconstrued his silence. The proud patriarch had gone deliberately reticent now to salvage his bruised ego which was unused to such candid confessions. The sensitive insular mind was now smarting from having unravelled itself so thoughtlessly. 

Kieran was however quick to pacify , to sooth. Slender fingers fastened around John's wrist vigorously holding it in an iron grip preventing him from leaving. '' Wait father .................. I am sorry. Sorry for behaving like an eejit today , for hurting you, do forgive me please ?'' He held out his arms invitingly, whilst looking beseechingly into his father's eyes. In no time he was swooped into an embrace. Relieved he hid his face into the folds of his father's coat, delighted as he caught a whiff of the familiar fragrance of his father, which was a heady combination of Dunhill cigars , Old Spice and cedarwood..... this unique synthesis he always associated with his father. It represented reassurances of love and refuge. He remembered how when he was a toddler he would desperately seek out his father's chambers whenever he had a nightmare would creep into his bed seeking solace in those strong loving arms and in the familiar scent. 

He took long greedy gulps inhaling it as much as he could as it could fill his lungs and all his fears would evaporate. Subconsciously his fingers developed a life of their own tugging and playing with his father's brass buttons before he coloured and checked himself. He also fought an insane urge to purr as his father stroked his curls ( but thankfully controlled it) . His father tucked him undre his sheets lovingly petting his curls one final time before he turned the lights off and slipped out, gently closing the door behind him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

As he lay in the dark, Kieran vowed not to try and displease his father again. His father was not like the fathers of his peers. Jackson's father a retired colonel was extremely regimental at home, less of a father more of an exacting taskmaster. Kieran had came across that man a few times when he had visited Jackson's home in Dillmouth. He 4emembered squirming as the man had sized him up coolly, feeling less like an individual and more like an exotic specimen about to be examined, poked around and dissected. The garrulous and rowdy Jackson , one of themost enthusiastic members of the school footie team had been subdued and prim. Sometimes when he came bacxk from holidays Jackson seemed grim and moody, with faded bruises on his wrists which he attempted to cover up with oversized watches. Kieran had never dared to enquire after their nature. Kieran sometimes wondered , how much Jackson's staunch regard for authority and fierce competitive nature to oust away all adversaries on the field and in the classroom came from genetics or from the relentless upbringing.

 

Morgan's father was again an entirely different story all together. Morgan talked of his father indifferently as if he was a curious specimen beyond his comprehension or respect. Morgan's attitude t5owards his father was a synthesis of contempt and curiosity. Morgan often joked offhandedly that the '' old man lacked a major part of his anatomy.''

'' His balls?'' enquired Milligan in morbid fascination . ( Milligan was as unobservant and untactful as they came) 

 

'' Nah............ replied Morgan beatifically, '' just his spine.''  
Morgan's father had left him and his mother when he was a mere babe, but turned up seven years later penniless , destitute with tuberculosis. '' Would've died out there hungry and cold if it werent for me mam.''

A common scene at the Morgan's home was the thin ragged man sitting near the fireplace in a peevish mood, whining for a warm blanket , tea and kik ( irish pronunciation for ''cake'') throwing a tantrum when his demands were ignored. However his tantrums were aborted with frequent bouts of coughing until he was calmed down by Morgan's mother with a cup of strong tea and stern words. Often his father could be seen drunk ( almost half seas over, joked Morgan ) and singing lewdly in their courtyard with his harmonica :

 

'' Come all ye maidens young and fair, all you that are bloomin'in your prime, always beware and keep your garden fair, let no man steal 'way your thyme.''

 

Referring to his perpetually drunk father's penchant for anything alcoholic, Morgan often joked bitterly that he may have been born with whiskey in his belly. Kieran is very fortunate that his father is not a dictator or a disgrace like othre fathers. The only time Kieran had had a major conflict with his father was almost 2 years back , when he had sneaked out of the house at the crack of dawn in Boxing Day and hyad given away almost all the Christmas presents he had got jumpers, cakes mince pies to the poor Hammonds who lived in a shanty , half a mile from Kieran's residence Mulholand Street. He had tried to sneak back into his room unobtrusively but had been caught by his father unawares in the dining hall. 

'' Where have been my son? '' his father's voice held no wrath, no accusation just mild enquiry. Yet it was enough to make his insides quiver in fear. 

'' Outside father.'' he replied his voice barely calm.

'' And you couldnt notify anybody of that fact? his father continued grave and toneless as ever. 

'' Everybody was barely out of their beds sir. ''

''What was so important that you had to sneak out like this in the wee hours of the morning? '' '' Are you indulging in something immoral? Or illegal? '' Now the seemingly indifferent tone alters and John's pallid face ashens.

'' No no Father!! I........... I just went to help the Hammonds father. '' They - Kieran's composure breaks and his voice bagans to shake, '' little Amy is suffering from measles father yesterday everbody was so happy but the Hammonds were cold hungry sick with worry for little Amy in Christmas sir!.''  
I didnt want to wake you all up.''   
His father let out a relieved sigh. '' Kieran '' he began gently.

Kieran continued hurriedly '' Doesnt the Bible say , '' Whoever is generous to the poor , lends to the Lord and he will repay him for his deed? ''

There was a shift to the tense atmosphere , as hius father smiled smiloed tiredly, and beckoned him to come closer , drawing his son into a loose embrace . '' You have memorised the verses well my son.'' His father murmurs contentedly, cupping the buy's face gently and smiling serenely down at him. 

Kieran ducks his head and smiles shakily his cheeks flaming read feeling both pleased and embarassed ( as he always did whenever his father huggd him, which was quite rare, as John Cavanagh was not known to be very tactile ) He murmured , '' I just read the Psalms every night before sleeping, just like you told me to.'' He finishes beaming.

'' And do you keep the Psalms every night under your pillow?''

'' Aye''.

Kieran was treated to the sight of his father's face dissolving into an enormous , overjoyed smile. '

'' I am not unhappy that you did what you did '' he continued smiling, '' it shows that my son is growing up to be a worthy , considerate young man......w hat more can a father ask for ? But .......... going out so early in the morning in the cold , you could easily have absorbed the humours of the cold weather and become sick. Besides the shanty is uncleanand very unhygienic. From this day onwards , I will have some food sent to the Hammonds all right ? '' On every Christmas a portion of the veal and sweet meats and some clothes ( Kieran's old clothes to be more specific but what the boy didnt know wouldnt hurt him ) will be sent to the Hammonds.''

Kieran did have the most understanding father ever. 

As he lay on the bed under his covers Kieran vows to prevent such a mishap from occurring ever again, the fortress of lies and deception he had built around himself ever since he was six years old was to show hisfather an illusion ofnormalcy wasnt it ? 

As he felt asleep in the midst of his musings, he dreamt of another voice - young , deep and earnest repeating more or less the same phrase ofwords hisfather had used earlier that day , '' I will do anything for you.'' '' You are worth twenty ofme.'' instead of inspiring him with feelings of triumph when his father had been so honest with him all he felt was his heart going cold with dread and fear and an earnest prayer that the speaker never followed on this particular terrifying promise.

Kieran had been unwilling to even look into his father's eyes after the nearly prevented calamity today. It was not only because he was overcome with embarassement............. it had much more to do with concealing that his eyes might have assumed the colour of molten gold. 

In the blessed epoch of uniform mediocrity of the present age where members of all the divisions of human society more or less resembled each other ( or tried to anyway ) Kieran John Cavanagh was an exception. He was a flower on the cusp of blooming, a volcano on the brink of an eruption. It was almost as there was another entity inside him simmering beneath his skin, throbbing in his veins, sustaining his life blood but always clamouring to be released. With each passing year it develop[ed and thrived as if using his body as a piece of fertile soil ............. Kirean shuddered that maybe someday this magnificient entity beautiful and terrifying, always kept barely in a leash , would one day force its way out of his body, leaving it in ravages. This whirlpool of energy might discard the confines of Kieran's mortal body, shedding it like a hideous skin to emerge beautiful , pure and liberated. 

Kieran Cavanagh was magical. 

Sometimes he wondered if this was not the outcome of a huge cosmic joke as if the Fates feeling bored had embarked on a game '' Lets mess Up Kieran Cavanagh's life in Every Way Possible.''


End file.
